


Is That Really You?

by SnowPippin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: An attempt to abuse ones body, Angst, F/M, Hallucinations?, Lust, Romance, You'll hear the sound of your heart breaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowPippin/pseuds/SnowPippin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is flustered and depressed. It has been almost a year since Sherlock's death. In his eyes, he thinks that Sherlock is truly dead. They both spend a night together and John thinks that he is hallucinating. John is confused between the two worlds that he and Sherlock share. Is Sherlock really alive or are his eyes and mind playing tricks on him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is It Really You?

**Author's Note:**

> This Johnlock fanfic may be depressing and sad. And of course, there will be another chapter that will await you dear readers. And I hope you'll enjoy it and look forward to the second chapter! Enjoy!
> 
> The previous Johnlock fanfic is http://archiveofourown.org/works/809114 where John goes on to visit Sherlock in the cemetery.

Sherlock, he's out of control. You have to stop this immediately. I have never seen him this way before and please, Sherlock, I will not hesitate to tell him. I can't bare to see him that way. Can you? -MH 

A text chime was heard informing Sherlock that he has just gotten a message. It was none other than Mycroft Holmes, of course. Mycroft was the only one who knows that Sherlock is alive and that he had faked his own death. Sherlock quickly read through the text and replied a quick message to his dear brother. 

No, Mycroft. You can't and we both know we can't. And I can never bare it, Mycroft. Never. But, I am trying to endure it. He'll get over it soon enough. He will, I know he will. It's for the best. " - SH

In less than a minute Mycroft sends out his next reply. 

It's for the best? You have to do SOMETHING about this, Sherlock. I don't care how or what. Sort it out. It has to be stopped, Sherlock. This has to stop. - MH

I am in pain, Mycroft. I am hurt. I am missing him every single time of the day. But I can't, I can't do that. You know what'll happen. And I can't let him go. I can never let him go. He's safer without me, Mycroft. He needs to be safe. Away from danger. He has Mrs Hudson, he has You, he has Lestrade and he has Sarah and people love him, Mycroft. He will find a way, someway somehow. - SH

My dearest brother, he needs you. John needs you more than ever, Sherlock. And, I know you've been watching him and trying your best to find out what he's doing every single time of the day, but Sherlock, do you know that he's been harming himself? He's doing drugs, Sherlock. You have to help him. I don't know how but I know you'll find a way. -MH

Sherlock's eyes widen at Mycroft's previous text. How? How is it possible? How is it that he doesn't know about this? And this, this is unlike John at all. He has to find a way, and quickly. But little did Sherlock know that John has been doing drugs because he was extremely depressed. 

***Back at Bakerstreet***

A dark silhouette formed up on the wall. The whole apartment was poorly lit and there, by Sherlock's couch, sat a thin man who was hugging himself into a ball looking absolutely lost and vulnerable. The place itself was unorganised and messy and Mrs Hudson tried so very hard to help with their apartment but everything will just turn upside down all over again. So the thin man sat there, with and unshaven face and eyes that were bloodshot and eye bags and dark circles that were forming up below his eyes. Wrinkles formed and he looked strained, stressed and looked very much older than his usual self. 

That vulnerable, lost and depressed man was none other than John Watson. And there he sat against the wall, on the floor, beside the very couch that Sherlock would lie on or sometimes sleep on when he is "too bored". He muttered, very quietly but with utter pain in his very heart he spoke Sherlock's name continuously under his breath and cried. He couldn't bare the pain any longer and Mycroft was right, John needed him. John needed Sherlock. 

The very fact that John thought that Sherlock, his lover was dead was an utter downfall on him. He was not quite the same man he used to be. A soldier he was but he was a man, not a machine. He had his emotions cooped up in his very solid lion-hearted heart but he couldn't take it. And this is that very night. The night where depression and anger takes control over his being. 

John was physically and mentally exhausted. He looked at the surroundings around him. He has caused such a massive destruction. Books were strewn all over the place and papers were everywhere and files were scattered in so many places and tables were turned upside down. Panic soon strike him as he struggles to stand up from his seating position to search for Sherlock's things. If any of his things were being destroyed by his very unwell being, John did not know what he would do. Relief soon surged through his whole body and his previously tensed up body relaxes. None of his things were being harmed. John, exhausted and tired brought a little syringe with him that he took from his box and went into Sherlock's room to the bed that they used to share. The window in the room was wide open and it was breezy. The air smelled of Sherlock somehow. John was about to cry and he couldn't take it any longer and he held the syringe which was filled with a milky substance. Yes, it was a drug and John was planning on stabbing himself with it, letting those poisoned chemicals flow through his body. And just as he was about to insert the needle onto his vein, a familiar voice was heard. 

"John." It said. And then a second time and that very voice and man came out from the shadows. 

"Sher.. No, it can't be. It's you, but you're..." said John, confused and lost. The very injection that he was just about to inject himself with a few seconds ago came tumbling down his very fingers and dropped onto the floor with a tinkling sound. 

Sherlock moved up towards John's form who was utterly confused and exasperated. John is about to break down anytime soon. Sherlock could not trust his eyes at what he was seeing. John looked absolutely vulnerable and thin. John's legs buckled and he fell on his knees and just as he was about to, Sherlock grabbed him by his arms and slowly they eased down onto the floor. 

"You.. You are real. You're here. Everything doesn't make sense. You.. You can't be. But everything feels so real. You look so real." John sat there, his hands trembling and his eyes moving. 

John was uncertain, thought Sherlock. Of course he was, for almost a year he has been missing out from John's life. Of course this man was uncertain. Sherlock sat up on his knees and held John's face. 

"John, I'm here. I'm here with you. Always. " Sherlock was certain but his voice was shaky. 

And there John sat, truly not believing and he started to shake, in which Sherlock panically found out that John was actually crying. This man has been probably crying for him since the day he thought that he was dead and it occurred to Sherlock how much hurt and pain he had caused on John. He couldn't bare it. He needed those tears to stop, he needed them to stop because it was his fault, Sherlock's fault that John has even tried to endanger his own life and body. And still, he does not know that Sherlock is truly alive, he needed to be "dead" to save John but from the looks of it, things were getting pretty bad. 

"John," Sherlock said, his hands are now on the Doctor's face, he wiped and kissed those tears away like how a mother would treat her crying child and he said his name so many times, savouring that name and keeping it in his heart and he took John into his embrace, resting his chin onto John's unkempt hair and smoothening it out with his palm and he hugged him, never wanting to let go because he truly missed this. He missed everything they did together. 

But it was hard for John, Sherlock felt real, this felt real but he couldn't get his mind off the fact that Sherlock was now with him. He stayed like that for awhile, in Sherlock's loving embrace. John wanted to enjoy the feel of him as they sat there, connected in some unexplained way and feeling and every part of him yearns for Sherlock. To feel him, to inhale the smell of him, to just let all those nostalgic memories come back and he wanted Sherlock to take him further and further away from reality. 

Sherlock stood up slowly and faced John who now still looked at him in awe and a little something of understanding. John's eyes were tired, Sherlock could see. But, they were both now warm and unlike before, it was all tired, strained, red and puffy. But still, he did not forgive himself for doing this on John. Sherlock held out his palm, hoping that John would take it unhesitatingly. John took it and stood up, never letting go of his hands from Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock was about to move but felt a slight tug from his hand and turned to look at John whose face now showed of sadness and uncertainty. 

"I don't know if I'm hallucinating or am I just sodding crazy. But this, this all feels so real and I can't.. I can't take it if whatever I'm doing or whatever is happening right now is not real. I can't imagine what I'll probably do. But, whatever it is, just sod it all. But I just want to say this because you or rather just.. Sherlock needs to to know about this.. You need to know. I-" Before John could even continue, Sherlock had spoken. 

"John, I know. I know and I love you." Sherlock whispered. His hand was now on John's face and his breath was thick and hot. 

John didn't care if it was the lust talking or if he actually meant it. But he just wanted to stay. Like this. Forever. He just wanted to trust and, for so many times he wanted to believe. He even tried to look away, but Sherlock gently pulled John's face to him, forcing John to look into his own reflection through the beauty of his eyes. 

"I love you so much, John. I always have. " 

"I love you too," John said finally as their lips met- meaning every single word he said. Saying it because he felt it and not because of obligation or an offshoot of lust; but because he had loved Sherlock since he sat eyes on him, lusted after him during those moments they shared and finally, fallen in love with him with everything he did and said. 

It had always been Sherlock.  
It would always be Sherlock. 

John's mind remained focused on the moment. He couldn't bare to miss a single one. 

Tomorrow was another day. 

But John wanted to stay like this, forever, with Sherlock. 

Their kiss were full of intimacy, and deeper it went full of many emotions. Sherlock's kiss were urgent but tender and assuring. Heat started to build up among the two men. They kissed each other now, with a new urgency, and as their kisses grew more heated, Sherlock pulled John onto the bed with him. 

John didn't fight a strong urge to leave, feeling strangely content he just lie in Sherlock's arms and not think about anything more taxing than how he felt at that precise moment. And for awhile, in each other's arms, they managed to forget about everything. John was naked and asleep in Sherlock's arms, his head nestled on his shoulder. Even with the terrible knowledge that this was probably their last night together, which Sherlock knew it was, John had managed to find comfort and peace in being this close to him. And then, without any warning, John wasn't anymore. So, it was easy to fall into a peaceful sleep, only to wake up the next day to an empty bed and a prickle of hurt. 

Sherlock was gone. 

The night before had been the time of his life and John did not know that that, would be the last time they ever made love to each other. 

***TO BE CONTINUED***


	2. Is That Really You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the night after they had just made love, Sherlock goes on to see how well John has been doing and technically, not very well at all. With the current state of the apartment and John's very well being, things start to go down the drain. Sherlock finds that letting go of John like that was indeed very hard. Sherlock struggles to whether he wants John to know the truth or not. But still, the question comes unanswered, will John find out if Sherlock is truly alive or is he really dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the very late updating of this fanfic. I've been rather busy with things but still I have managed to rather "complete" this fanfic. I shall now let you move on to the continuation of this story. Enjoy!

***That very same night*** 

Sherlock got up from the bed, gently so as not to wake dear John up. He stood at the edge of the bed and stayed like that for awhile, admiring John's quiet, sleeping form. He didn't want to leave John. He didn't want any of this to happen in the first place. He didn't want to lose John and most of all he didn't want to say goodbye. He disliked goodbyes. Sherlock stood there, naked and quiet. He observed John and he could hear the little heaving of John's breaths. His chest slowly rising and finally falling. John looked peaceful. His strained face that he has been wearing for the past few weeks was gone. Finally, finally he looked a little more like himself. 

"My John," thought Sherlock. 

Sherlock quietly, grabbed his bathrobe and looked outside the window of his room that he went into a few hours ago. The air was cool and breezy, Sherlock tightened the rope around his waist, feeling himself going a little bit warm. Sherlock's curly folds tumbled down lazily and it came up to a point where some of his little curls were about to poke his eyes. His hair was growing longer. Sherlock swiped away those little curly hairs and took a long inhale of fresh air and he then turned his head, again to John's sleeping form. The air smelt of them. Sherlock closed his eyes as if he were trying to save this memory. A few long seconds later, he opened his eyes, he looked around the room and caught sight of his abandoned violin.

Abandoned, because it has been such a long time since he's touched it and he thought that no one would touch it since, well, since John didn't play the Violin at all. Sherlock walked towards his beautiful violin unhesitatingly and as he picked it up, he realized that the violin was not as dirty as he had expected. It still looked as if it were well taken care of. He then realized that John has been taking care of it. Sherlock's face fell at that thought. That's all that John has been doing while he was gone. John would probably read through all of his notes that he had written in his notebook while Sherlock was gone. Sherlock couldn't imagine John's pain or what he has gone through. Perhaps nobody can. Sherlock missed Bakerstreet and Mrs Hudson and he finally felt completed with John and Bakerstreet and even Mrs Hudson, although, he felt rather sad not being able to see her. 

Sherlock took the violin with him and proceeded to their living room which was filled with messy papers everywhere and books scattered messily across the room. But there, he looked at his comfy sofa and it was neat. His coat was hanged on the back of the sofa and Sherlock felt sad even more due to the fact of what John had done. And there he sat, on his comfy sofa, back home, where he belonged with John. He touched and traced that little beautiful instrument, his fingers aching to play the violin and his ears eager to listen to those beautiful notes erupting from the violin. The little instrument whispered in his ear wanting Sherlock to play it. Sherlock can no longer take it and brought the violin to his cheek. He began to close his eyes and play, a rather soft and warm note. As he played, all his memories with John played in his mind and so, he played, following every memory. To Sherlock, every memory was like a musical note. This particular one however, was a mixture of low and soft. It reminded Sherlock so much of the challenges they would always face. But although there were bad times, they still were good memories. After a fight, wild things would occur between them. This, thought Sherlock, was their song. Yes, it was. 

In the other room, John slept peacefully. He could here those musical notes echoing through the room. But, instead of waking up, John snuggled deeper under the blanket. The next thing he knows, he was in a deep sleep. 

Once Sherlock has finished playing, he smiled a little. Sherlock remembered those moments whereby John would get so frustrated to find out that some of his jumpers were missing and well, one day John found out where it all went. With Sherlock, of course. Surprisingly, when that happened, John was not cross with him. However, the next thing he knew, he was on the bed with John by his side. Sherlock stepped out from his reverie. He quickly took his music sheet and quickly began to scrawl down the music notes from 'their song' trying his best to remember the exact notes he had played. As soon as Sherlock was done writing the music sheet, he recalled something of real importance to him that Mycroft had mentioned and finally he remembered. Sherlock needed to get rid of those drugs right away. But first, he needs to know what is in that very small syringe. At this thought, Sherlock felt a great pain rising at his chest. John has tried to abuse his body a number of times with the use of drugs. 

Sherlock quickly abandoned the music sheet and his violin and placed them next to John's laptop and quickly made his way into John's room. He looked at the time where it showed that it was 4:00AM in the morning. He didn't have much time left. Sherlock needed to leave soon. Hastily, Sherlock went to look for the drugs wherever he can in John's room, and then, it struck him hard. Sherlock remembered a little box that he has given to John and that there was a very high chance that he would keep it in that lovely old musical box that belonged to Sherlock when he was absolutely young. Sherlock gave John his little old childhood musical box because he wanted John to know that some part of him belonged with John. They would be far away, but at least there was always something for John to remember him by and Sherlock thought that by giving him his musical box was a wonderful idea. 

Sherlock's deductions were right. John did keep those unpleasant drugs in the music box. He took everything with him and went into his laboratory to dispose of those foul drugs but took an extra one with him to do a little bit of research in what was stored in those drugs. Afterwards, Sherlock quickly made his way back to their room where John was quietly snoring away. Sherlock laid back down by John's side and while he did, he pulled John towards him, gently. He laid there, his face buried in John's unkempt hair, inhaling him. And he stayed like that, unmoving for a very long time, savouring the moment and locking it in his memory and heart. Sherlock's crystalline eyes, slowly fluttered open and his eyes showed nothing else but sadness. 

"You deserve better than me, John. You deserve someone else better than me. You've got people who love you, who care for you. Who'll miss you when you're gone, John. You don't deserve any of this. You deserve so much better. You need someone who will love and care for you. Who will make you happy. I'm just endangering you, John. I'm not good enough. I'm not good enough for you and I apologize for doing so. I'm sorry for leaving you when you needed me most. I'm sorry John." Sherlock's voice cracked so many times while he said those words. 

It took him all his might to say that. sherlock was reluctant to leave John. He didn't want to. But he had to, whatever it takes to make sure John was safe. A tear rolled down those perfectly formed cheekbones, but this time, it was not fake crocodile tears but real and true emotional tears. He watched John in real slumber but as he slept, there was a slight frown in his brow. Sherlock sat there, his heart full of sorrow and reluctance. Slowly, very slowly, Sherlock got dressed into his previous clothes and made sure that everything was perfectly 'back to normal' as before and John would wake up the next day thinking that it was all a dream. He made sure that the bed looked as if Sherlock was never there. He made sure everything was settled and he made his way to John. This may be the very last time he'll ever be with John intimately. But, he would always be there, watching John. Admiring him from a far. He looked at the man he was so utterly in love with and kissed him lightly on the lips and on his brow. Then, he went up to John's ear and whispered oh, so softly onto John's ear. 

"I love you, John. Forever and always. Never forget that. Never hurt yourself because of me, John. Please, promise me. Promise me that my little lion-hearted soldier. Never harm yourself. I'll always be watching you from high above or even below. Find love. Be happy. I love you, John. I love you very much." Sherlock kissed John intimately on his mouth and kissed John's forehead. Afterwards, he left his lover with an aching and sad heart. 

In Sherlock's little head, he repeated this words continuously, " It's for the best. He needs someone more than me." 

Sherlock quietly looked outside the window, it was still dark and the whole neighbourhood was still asleep. Sherlock went out of Bakerstreet as quickly as possible, hoping that he wouldn't be found. He then took out his mobile phone and started sending Mycroft a message. 

It's done. I've disposed of the drugs. I'll be doing a little test in one of them. He'll wake up the next day feeling as though he dreamt of me. Mycroft, make sure he finds someone. Get him out of the house and get the place sorted. And my brother, take good care of him. - SH 

Sherlock pocketed his mobile back into his pocket. The cool air making his skin cold. He pulled up the collars of his coat and walk down the pavement, memories flooding through him those good and bad ones that he went through with John. 

"Memories," Sherlock thought. "Beautiful and good ones." 

Back at Bakerstreet, Sherlock left a few careless evidence of his presence in 221B. The drug that John was about to put into his veins was at the foot of the bed where it rolled and was lying there, waiting to be found. Sherlock's music sheet was left on top of John's laptop where it lay, undisturbed and waiting for it's notes to be played and to be found by John. 

***At Mycroft's beautiful Mansion*** 

*****TO BE CONTINUED******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a cliffhanger! My apologies! I was out while doing this and had to rush for a bit. I promise you, dear readers, there's more from this chapter. Definitely. I'll still have to edit a few things and then everything will be done, hopefully on time too.

**Author's Note:**

> I have just finished this chapter. So, the second chapter might take a little bit longer. I'll hope you dear readers wouldn't mind waiting because I had a little trouble. It may take longer than I thought. My apologies.


End file.
